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Jack arrived at Robby's house. Robby had asked him to come over.
To be honest Jack had been kind of worried about his friend. He’d been acting, well- odd. The last few days. At work it was like he’d been avoiding him. Everytime Jack talked to him, Robby had quickly found an excuse to leave. It gave him the feeling Robby was hiding something. And Robby and secrets- that was a bad combination.
He knocked on the door.
No answer.
He knocked again, louder this time.
Still nothing.
Robby was probably in the garden. Jack walked around the house.
He found his friend on the patio. Beer in hand, which made Jack frown since Robby usually didn't drink alone. He tried to push his growing worries down.
"Hey." He said casually.
"Hey." Robby replied, handing him a beer.
Jack opened it with a loud hiss. He kept his eyes on Robby’s face. He looked nervous. That was very rare and it made something twist in Jack's stomach. "What's up?" he asked carefully while lowering himself in a chair across from his friend.
Robby nervously tapped his finger against his armrest. "I uh- There’s- I- I have to…tell you something." He let out a shaky breath.
Jack looked at him with raised eyebrows. "Brother, I don't think I've ever heard you stutter." He hated the way Robby avoided his eyes.
Jack leaned closer. "You’re worrying me, man. Are you okay?"
"I’m fine." Robby said quickly. He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. His shoulders tensed in a way that told Jack he was frustrated. Probably at himself, knowing Robby.
"Good." Jack said. "But you're still kind of scaring me."
"Remember that patient a few days ago?" Robby said suddenly. “The one with the scars.” He gestured vaguely over his arms.
"I- uh- Yeah." Jack said, confused. He hadn’t expected this to be about a patient. And the patient hadn’t even been Robby’s, Jack had treated him. It had been a man in his thirties. His arms were scared from years of cutting himself. He’d come in for stitches. After Jack had treated him he met Robby at the desk.
Robby stared past him at the room he’d just left.
Jack followed his look and shrugged. “Just a laceration on the forearm. Needed stitches.”
“Self inflicted?” Robby asked.
Jack nodded. “Yeah. Still don’t really get it. I mean- I understand it, logically. But- couldn’t image, you know?”
Robby looked like he was about to say something. But another trauma patient got wheeled in and the moment was broken.
Come to think of it, that had been the moment Robby had started acting off. The realization made him nervous. Even if he wasn’t sure why yet.
Robby was still looking at the floor. "You said you didn’t really understand it." He said softly.
"Still don't." Jack said honestly. "Not really."
Robby nodded. "I do. Understand it."
Jack frowned again. "Uh- Okay?" He still didn’t get where his friend was going with this.
Roby shook his head. "I mean, I understand it exactly." He swallowed. "What it feels like."
Jack blinked a few times. He felt confusion and fear rising equally in his chest. "What are you saying?" He asked even though he was afraid of the answer.
"I used to hurt myself." It sounded like Robby had to force the words out.
Jack’s chest clenched tightly. "...what?" He managed. "But- No." He shook his head. "You don't have scars."
Robby lets out a chocked, half laugh. "I do. Just not as obvious."
Jack sits with that a moment. Could he have seen? If he’d just paid more attention to his friend. How could he have missed this? And how could Robby not have trusted him enough to tell him? "Why did you never tell me?" He tried to sound gentle but it came out tight.
A guilty look passed over Robby’s face. "I never wanted to burden you with it. And..." He trailed off.
"You thought I wouldn't understand." Jack finished for him bitterly. "I want to." Jack adds a little later. And he meant it. He desperately wants to understand now.
Robby nodded. "I know."
"Can I ask, how did you- what did you do?"
Robby looked at his knuckles, flexing his hands. "Punch walls to mess up my hands. Kick shit till my shins bled." He swallowed. "Sometimes I'd take something hard, smash it into my legs till they were bruised. Did other things..."
Jack swallowed hard. “When was the last time you..?”
Robby looked at the beer in his hands. He takes a big gulp. “After Adamson."
Sadness washes over Jack’s expression. He’d been with robby during that time. Spent nights together with him getting wasted. Comforting Robby as he cried. He didn’t remember any bruises though. Except after that one night. Jack’s eyes narrowed. “You said you got in a fight that week. Stupid bar fight, you were wasted.”
Robby nodded. “I did get in a fight. But I was sober. Just…provoked some drunk asshole till he started hitting me.”
“Fuck, Mike.” Jack muttered. “What if that guy had a knife? Could have killed you.”
“Didn’t care.” The answer was short. Honest. It made Jack’s stomach turn.
Jack swallowed. “Was that the only thing you did then?” he asked, almost hopeful.
Robby looked guiltily away again. Then he shook his head. “I needed something.” He said desperately. “And it couldn’t be the things I used to do. Couldn’t risk anyone at work seeing the bruises.” He paused for a moment then continued. “Those were the only times I ever cut myself. Those weeks after Adamson."
Jack is shocked. “But…how?”
“Oh I stopped eventually but… It took a while.”
“Where’d you cut?”
“Over my hip. Under my underwear. Figured no one would see it there”
“Fuck, Mike." Jack said again. “You gotta promise me something.”
“What?”
“If you ever feel like doing that again, call me.”
Robby looked at the floor. Jack could tell he was ashamed. But after a moment he gave a small nod.
Jack placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing softly.
“I’ve got you, brother. Always.”